“Anger is a wind which blows out the lamp of the mind.”

-Robert Ingersoll

I felt furious. Beyond enraged, blinded by fury, anger flooding my arteries with adrenaline. Feeding my muscles pure power. With the raw hatred burning in my eyes and within the depths of my soul I swung and caught his jaw in an uppercut so hard it pitched him backwards onto the grass. He tried to stand, to defend himself, but I was on him in seconds. With my legs I pinned his arms to the ground and punched him over and over again until he no longer struggled, bleeding profusely and wheezing through his shattered nose. I got to my feet, the anger still thick in my veins, making my blood boil. I kicked him. His ribs cracked under my boots. I kicked him again, in the face. He went limp as my boot caved in his features, mashed his skull and brains within. I suddenly froze, the color, heat, rage draining from me replaced by fear and growing dread. He was dead. I had killed him. Just like that. It had been so easy. An accident, but so terribly easy. Like stepping on a bug, simple, and his life winked out, just like that. I felt no remorse, only stark horror at what would happen to me if I were caught. I killed a man. Beat him to death! My heart and mind raced. I had to hide the body. Cover it up. Definitely. I couldn’t let anyone know the crime I had committed. I glanced around; the night was dark all around me, dark and still silent. No one had heard our struggle. I heard myself whimpering in terror at what would happen to me. Forget that son of a bitch, that fucker that had ruined my life. I dashed into the house and searched for something to put his corpse in. A large dark green rug would have to do. I packed a change of clothes, gasoline, gloves, a mask and a few other essentials. After dumping all those things into his car out front and donning the mask and gloves, I rolled his cooling corpse up in the rug and slowly hauled it into the back of the Pontiac. Glancing around, I saw no one. I’d have killed anyone who did see me. I wasn’t going to die for this piece of garbage. After locking up, I got in the car and turned over the engine before pulling out carefully and driving off. Anxiety radiated off of me more powerful than the shock waves from an atomic bomb, my mind set on overdrive and my heart rate scrambling to keep up. However, it did not cause me to speed, but instead carefully watch the speed limit. The last thing I needed was to be pulled over by a cop and have him find dumbass back there. I took deep shaky breaths, trying to steady myself and calm my nerves. I would need every ounce of brainpower I had to get away with this.

© 2004 A. F. Parker (Styx)

Do not copy, alter, or distribute in any way.

Steal and suffer. I have a twisted mind.